


The Nature of the Beast

by Lillian_Shepherd



Category: Primeval
Genre: First Season, Gen, Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 21:23:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillian_Shepherd/pseuds/Lillian_Shepherd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor initiates Cutter into ego-Googling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Nature of the Beast

It was getting late at the Central Metropolitan University's science campus. Stephen, raising his head from the fossil he was carefully unpicking from its stone matrix, wondered if he could just as carefully unpick Cutter from the paper he was reading and take him off to the King's Head for a meal and a couple of beers, when he noticed how unnaturally quiet Connor had been since he had parked himself at the powerful desktop PC with no more than a, "You don't mind if I surf a bit, do you, Cutter?"

He had got little more than a grunt in an assent, but had plainly taken it as a resounding, "Yes."

Stephen wandered over to lean over Connor's shoulder, and the younger man quickly minimised the screen. "What are you up to?" Stephen asked, reaching for the mouse.

"Nothing. Honest."

"That'll be a first." Cutter had joined them. "What's this—?" He peered uncomprehendingly at a screen full of links, all with the words "Connor" and "Temple" in bold, if not always in that order.

"Haven't you ever ego-googled, Professor?"

Cutter stared at him as if he had grown a second head. It was more interest than he usually showed in Connor, who started to panic under the scrutiny. "You know, you type your own name into Google and see what it comes up with."

"You should try it, Cutter. See what your students think of you," Stephen suggested, with a grin.

"I know what my students think of me," Cutter growled. "They think so little of my intelligence that they present me with dissertations about life arriving from Outer Space."

Connor squirmed. "It might help if you saw them occasionally... Hey, look, I'll just type 'professor' and 'cutter' and 'evolutionary zoology' into Google and voila!"

"You could try 'spores from outer space' and see how many scientific citations you get."

"Well, there would be Professor Hoyle and Professor Wickthingysingh—"

"Wickramasinghe," said Cutter making the name sound like a Scottish curse. "Neither with a biological qualification. What's more, they're the idiots who tried to argue that the archaeopteryx fossils were faked – though you probably agree with them."

Guessing that that one was one conspiracy theory too far for Cutter, and also suspecting that the other man had probably had hands on the original fossils and his own opinions, Connor still felt driven to argue: "We haven't seen a live one —" 

"Oh, for pity's sake—"

"Cutter." Stephen was still bending over the screen. "Take a look at this."

Cutter and Connor both stared at the screen in horror.

"Oh, bugger," was the Professor's considered comment.

"Lester isn't going to like this," was the student's.

The headline screamed in 36 point Impact

SCIENTISTS' SECRET HUNT FOR BODMIN BEAST

Under it was a fuzzy picture of the Department's pick-up, with Cutter looking rugged, Connor cold and worried, and Abby totally gorgeous, while Stephen was carrying his .303 rifle in one hand, the butt of the automatic he had blagged from the SAS all too visible where it was jammed into his belt. Unfortunately, he was at the front of the group. 

"Coo, look at this," Connor said. "'Professor Nicholas Cutter (right), maverick Evolutionary Zoologist from the Central Metropolitan University, together with other members of his Department' – I guess that means me as well as Stephen—"

"Over my dead body."

"'—were spotted on Bodmin Moor by our science correspondent (blah blah).' Hey, listen to this bit. 'The powerful weapons carried by Cutter's assistant, fellow zoologist Stephen Hart, suggest that they are in search of something more dangerous than our local foxes. What else could they be looking for but the legendary Beast of Bodmin?'"

"I'm going to be a laughing stock," Cutter opined, to no-one in particular.

At that moment, the phone rang. No-one moved. Finally, the answerphone cut in, "Department of Evolutionary Zoology, main lab. There's—"

"Cutter, pick up the damned phone!" a familiar voice snarled.

Stephen reached for the receiver and tossed it to his boss, who held it an inch from his ear in deference to Lester's bellow. "Yes, yes, I've seen it. No. Nothing official. We'd heard reports of what we thought might be a pterosaur... No, no, just a vulture escaped from someone's collection. Turns out Abby used to help out at a falconry centre. Stephen shot a rabbit for her to use as a lure and the bird came right to her glove... That's why she's at the hospital. No, no, the gloves we use for handling captive beasts weren't thick enough, even though we'd reinforced them with hardbo— Wellington zoo took it on. No, no trace of an anomaly. What – ?" The phone snarled again.

Cutter's eyes widened. "Scroll down the page," he ordered.

As Connor obeyed, another, even fuzzier, picture swam into view.

"Behold the Beast of Bodmin," Stephen said, dryly.

"What is it?" Connor asked.

"It looks very like a _machairodontine_ of some kind," said Cutter. "Not big enough for _smilodon_ but otherwise I can't tell without a good look at its skull."

"I never suspected that they came in basic black."

"That's the trouble with fossils – they don't come labelled 'colour me pink'." 

"But the Beast of Bodmin is an escaped big cat," said Connor.

"Yes. Escaped from the Pleistocene," Cutter said, with a sigh. He put the phone back to his ear. "You got that, I take it?" He listened for a minute or so, said, "Aye," switched off and tossed the phone back to Stephen to replace on its cradle. "Lester says he'll get the article removed from the website, and start the process of debunking the photo of the sabre-tooth if it's been... er... what's the phrase?"

"Hacked?" Connor suggested helpfully."Ganked? Gakked?"

"I take it there's a price?"

"That we go back to Bodmin, neutralise the beast and...er..."

"Close the cat flap?"

Ignoring Connor, Cutter grabbed his coat, while Stephen unlocked the gunsafe and selected a dart-rifle, plus something much heftier and deadlier for backup.

"Looks like you got the Beast of Bodmin's number." The sound of Cutter and Stephen ignoring Connor became louder as he followed them out. "Sabres at dawn, then? What did the photographer say to the sabre-tooth?"

Unwisely, Stephen looked back with a raised eyebrow.

"Smile, you're on 'Candid Camera'."

"Greumph."

"Stephen," Cutter said, ploughing onwards toward the car park. "Maybe we ought to try a different tactic this time. The way they used to get tigers within gun range in India."

"Ah." Stephen picked up his cue. "But for that we need a goat."

"Indeed. Who do we know who qualifies?"

Connor suddenly realised that the older men had stopped and were looking at him intently. "Goat? Qualifies-? What— Hey! – No!" It was too late. Stephen had one arm, Cutter the other, and his feet were kicking air. "No, fellas, you're kiddin'? You are kidding? Aren't you— ?" His wails were cut off abruptly as he was dumped in the back seat of the pick-up. 

 

Watching the pick-up disappear into the night, the Professor of Anthropology, who had been watching smiled to herself in satisfaction. So that was what happened to Cutter's students. Satisfied, she ambled back to her office to write up the incident for her paper on why people dropped out of University.

**Author's Note:**

> Written at the end of the first season and set during it. Originally published on LJ and the ARC Archive.


End file.
